


Voicemail

by olicitea



Category: How to Get Away with Murder
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, F/M, and decided to post it bc why not, i wrote this while i was an emo mess, takes place after season two
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-20
Updated: 2017-02-20
Packaged: 2018-09-25 18:25:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,252
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9837926
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/olicitea/pseuds/olicitea
Summary: The first night, she just sits there in his apartment, her phone weighing heavily in her hand. She's not surprised when he doesn't answer.//or, laurel calling frank after he leaves, post season two





	

**Author's Note:**

> i have no clue where i was going with this, so if its a mess im sorry haha. i just really like flaurel and since they dont already have enough angst in their life i wrote this. that was sarcasm

As she sits on his couch, her eyes fixed on the empty living room, she picks up her phone and dials his number.   
She knows he won’t answer, but she does it anyway.

She's not surprised when there's no response.

So, the first night she just sits there, in his apartment, her heart aching and her eyes burning with tears and she can’t help but come to the conclusion that it’s all her fault. She shouldn't have ever opened her mouth.

It’s her fault that Frank left.

She walks over to his kitchen and drowns herself in liquor.

* * *

She awakes with her head pounding and her temples throbbing and she feels awful but she knows she deserves it.

It all comes back to her, but she just stares at the wall, attempting and failing to process it all. Self-pity envelopes her and she hates it.

She dials his number. His phone is off. She leaves a voicemail.

“Frank…” she starts, but there are too many words to say and they’re all stuck in her throat. She feels a weight on her chest, suffocating her, and she hangs up, unable to continue, her hands shaking.

She runs her fingers through her hair and stands up, an expletive slipping off her tongue.

As she gets in her car, she just wishes she at least could have said bye to him.

* * *

The worst part is that she has no clue how she's supposed to feel. Angry, yes. She was furious. She had been, ever since she found out about Lila. She had fumed away, not giving him the chance to explain, but hell, an explanation wouldn’t change what he had done.

But there was something else, too. Longing. She wishes it was all a sick joke. That her boyfriend (ex-boyfriend?) wasn't a murderer and didn't just flee to God knows where.

She finds out about Mahoney later that day.

So on the third day, she calls him again. His voicemail greets her, as she expected.

“You’re a psychopath, you know that? You can’t just run away from your fucking problems, Frank.” His name is like venom on her tongue. She tries to control her tone, her volume, but she can’t. She’s so goddamn angry she feels like sobbing. “You know - I’m actually glad you’re gone. I don’t want you in my life anymore. God, you’re worse than my father. I can’t believe you - you would do something like that. In front of Wes, too…” Her voice hitches. She takes a shaky breath. “I fucking hate you. For everything.”

The tears begin to fall as she ends her message.

* * *

A few weeks pass. She wants to be glad that he's gone, but she's not. There's no closure. She doesn't know where he is. If he's alive or dead. There are too many missing variables. Too many unanswered question. It eats away at her, like some impossible equation that she can't solve no matter how much she tries. She tries to forget it, but she can't. It's all just so wrong.

It seems too out of place. At first she was mad, she was infuriated. But no matter how much she hated him, and how much his actions disgusted her, she felt as though he had been ripped out of her very being. She was shaken to the core.

It's hard for her to sleep. At night is when her mind wanders to the endless possibilities. The same questions keep coming back to her.

* * *

“Laurel, what’s going on?” Michaela asks her one day. It startles her. It wasn't a question she had been expecting.

"What do you mean?" Laurel responds, looking up at Michaela, who sighs.

"You look exhausted," she clarifies, and Laurel looks down.

She doesn’t have the right to be acting this way. To complain. It’s not like she was the only one with a shitty life right now. Hell, Wes had it worse than her at the moment. And it wasn’t easy for Michaela either. Every one of them was in the same shit-show.

Laurel looks up at Michaela, noticing not only the tiredness of her face but also the concern in her eyes.

Laurel looks back down, clearing her throat. “Don't worry, I'm fine.” It’s probably the biggest lie she’s ever told.

* * *

She wishes she could go back to being mad at Frank but now she just feels so empty.

She dials his number after work - voicemail again.

“Frank…” Her voice is low and indifferent. “Why did you do it? I…” She sighs. She doesn’t know what else to say. She doesn’t even know if he’ll listen to these. “I hate this. I hate the fact that I miss you. I should be happy you’re gone. But instead, I feel guilty for thinking about you. I hate this. I hate you. God, I hate you.”

* * *

Calling him becomes a routine. It's a semblance of normality. He’s never picked up, but she knows he’s been listening to them. She questions her sanity from time to time - wondering if she’s losing it, but never gets deep into the subject lest it bring up other unwanted revelations. She doesn’t always leave a voicemail, but when she does, they’re usually short. Her saying something about how Wes is a suspect in Mahoney’s murder, or how Annalise has been drinking a bit too much, or how quiet Bonnie is, or how Connor and Oliver have been having some relationship issues. It’s stupid, and she knows it, but she can’t help but feel painful pangs of nostalgia whenever she does it. It’s almost as if everything’s normal again.

But it’s not.

Frank isn’t the same person he once was.   
He and Laurel aren’t together.  
He’s gone and he isn’t coming back.

And sometimes Laurel remembers just what he did, and she can’t stand to think that she’s fallen in love with a man as terrible as him, and it pains her that she can’t get him out of her mind.

* * *

It’s one in the morning on a weekday when she finally breaks.

It all catches up to her. Blame it on the alcohol, lack of sleep, or stress - it doesn’t matter.

She’s wasted. Completely trashed. Sloppy drunk. She can’t even think straight. But as she sits on her bed, reeking of alcohol, she calls him. And it all comes out.

“Frank…” Her voice is small and her words slur as she speaks. “Y-you piece of shit…” she says, but her words don’t come out angrily. It's a pathetic pleading tone that comes out when she speaks, tinged with sorrow and defeat. “Why the fuck did you leave…? Y-you just left me, and I hate you for it, y’know?” Her head is aching as she speaks and she feels every heartbeat in her throat. “But I miss you, too.”

She pauses, trying to control her breathing. She lets out a small, pathetic laugh. “I…I honestly wasn’t sure if I loved you…but now that you’re gone, I know the answer.” Her words are slow and watery and her eyes fill up with tears. “I shouldn’t miss you…but I do, Frank. God, I miss you so much, and I want to know you’re alive…that you’re okay…” Her voice breaks and she stifles a sob. Her head is cloudy but everything she says is true. “I lo-“

The voicemail cuts off. She tosses the phone onto the coffee table and buries her head in her hands, letting the unending tears drip down her face.

She really did love him.


End file.
